Le Fantôme de l'Opéra de Vampire
by Englund
Summary: The story of Erik Altair, a Michael Crawford based phantom, through his eyes. Starting at age 4, until his death, you will see here just how harsh the world can be, and learn exactly what made him who he is.


I sit on my window sill, gazing out at the world around me. It's a brisk, foggy morning, and the clouds cover the pink, sun rise sky. The traffic of carriages is hardly any, and the merchants have yet to bellar their advertisements to the pedestrians. For once, it's a quiet morning. At least Father isn't home.

I'm able to keep the mask off. Father is gone on a business trip, and it'll be a while before he gets back. Mother comes behind me, and places her hands on my shoulders, putting a plate of cheese cake beside me.  
"Good morning, Erik."  
"Morning, Mother."  
I curl up to her. "Father is going away for how long?" I ask her, hopeful her answer will be forever.  
"It'll be a month, Erik."  
A month... Not what I hoped for, but it was better than what it usually is.  
"Come, now, my little angel, eat your breakfast before Father Jean comes."  
"Yes, Mother."  
She kisses my cheek, then returns to cleaning the house. Father Jean was a priest from here in Rouen. He was the only man who didn't mind my face, and his son was my only human friend. He came whenever father was away, to educate me. If he is ever caught by my Father, he'd surely hang in the street. Why is it so dangerous for Father Jean? What does he do other than teach me?

I pick up the cheese cake and the flavor engulfs me. One thing that never gets stuck in my two pointy teeth is cheese cake. Mother calls them fangs. But why do I have them? Mother worries whenever I would bite Father. One time they were yelling profoundly at each other, and Father called me a blood sucking freak. Mother said that the term "Vampire" was more appropriate. I thought vampires were evil. If they are, why does Mother love me? I pondered the thought every morning, and each time, the reason deluded me.

I saw the white steed trotting her way down the path. She was like a beacon in the heavy fog. Father Jean's cloak was like a blue flag of wool accents in the spring air. I finished up my breakfast, and slipped on my shoes and coat. I could hear mother calling me to come downstairs. With Father away, I felt so glad to run down the stairs. I combed back my whispy thin hair, and stood by the drawing room. Mother went to the door just as our dog, Archimedes, a white and brindle Bull Terrier, came from the Kitchen and sat beside me. I patted his head and smiled. I could hardly wait for Father Jean to come in.

"Erik! Good day, my boy!" Father Jean beamed, seeing me with Archimedes. Father Jean removed his cloak and hat. His puff tie was a lovely jade, with a saphire tie pin. His vest and coat was matching, and his shirt was a pearl white like his spats. He had dark blonde wavy hair, and his brow was conformed of aged thought. I smiled brightly and shook his hand. My fang nearly caught my lip. I knew these things could retract, but I had yet to master getting them to stay that way.  
"Ready for your next lesson?"  
"Yes, sir."  
His wrinkled, cracked lips crooked a gentle smile. Picking up his bag, Father Jean took me in his stride and we walked to the drawing room.

He laid his books out. "Where shall we study today?" he quirked an eye brow. My mismatched eyes locked in on the study of Architecture, and we whisped away the day; lost in the algorithim. Time meant nothing when he and I were together.  
The clock seemed non-existant, until a beam of afternoon sun lashed from the window into my eye.  
"And this?"  
"That's Alabaster. An alloy. You don't use that for stonework."  
"Exellent. And define what Jade is."  
"Your suit!"  
He looked at his attire and gave a hardy chuckle. "Now, now, Erik. Not quite." I giggled at him, and he tugged my ear slightly. "Be serious, smarty knickers." Rubbing my ear, I sat up.  
"Jade, a precious stone used in architecture. Commonly used for statues of high value, Jade has a mossy green tint."  
His silver eyes shimmered with pride. "You never cease to amaze me, Erik. I think we've done enough today," He sighed happily, closing the book.  
After speaking to Mother, he patted my shoulder and was on his way, promising he'd see me tomorrow once again.

Back in my room, I stared out into the bright noon day. "Erik, darling, try not to look out the window like that," Mother said, with a gentle touch of concern as she swept the floor. I sat up. Just as I my footing arrowed for her, there was a stinging pain. I felt a warm rush down the side of my head. It was blood. "Bull's Eye!" A young boy shouted, punching his companion's shoulder. Mother threw her head out the window, scolding the hoodlums with a bushel of profanity. Closing the window, she sighed. I could hear Father Jean chasing them off. "Go on you street rats, go home! Go on! Your folks should teach you to be law abaiding, like Gentlemen!" As Mother turned around, she could see the malformed side of my face was blood-bathed.  
"Oh no!"  
"I'm alright... it doesn't hurt me..."  
She gasped in horror, trying to clean the wound in my head. "What's wrong?" I jumped.  
"Hold still, Erik."  
Soon she was pulling out thin shatters of bloody bone. I realized it was my skull.  
"Am I going to die?"  
"No, deary. It'll heal."  
Looking at the reflction on the shiny mantle piece, I saw the damage done... The grey matter was protuding out, held in by only a membrane. It looked like a broken dish. I started to cry. What was wrong with me was bad enough. It just got worse...


End file.
